


You make me completely alive

by erde (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 19:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20458340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/erde
Summary: "You left me alone in bed in the name of making something as pedestrian as breakfast. Of course I'm grumpy," Tony says.





	You make me completely alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fictionforlife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionforlife/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/514487) by ireallyshouldbedrawing. 

> Title from 4AM in London by Benjamin Francis Leftwich. Thanks to ishipallthings for her help!

It's early in the morning and sunlight is pouring through the windows, infusing the air with the hazy quality of dreams. "Why are you here instead of wrapped around me?" Tony demands loudly from somewhere behind Steve, sliding close until the length of his body is flush against Steve's back. The closeness, achingly familiar by now, is made novel by the fact that they aren't naked and curled around each other in bed but standing in front of whisked eggs and two cups of flour and a handful of strawberries cut in halves, now lying forgotten; by the knowledge that anyone could walk into them any moment now and they wouldn't give a damn.

"Someone has to make breakfast," Steve says, and although he tries to sound a little stern, even if it's only for show, he fails completely.

"Well, it didn't have to be you," Tony says with a tsk, and even then, he presses the tip of his nose against the back of Steve's head, nuzzling his hair. The gesture, ever so gentle, makes Steve's heart flutter, disarms him completely. He has the presence of mind not to let the whisk fall to the floor, to put the flour at a safe distance from flailing hands, to allow himself this and smile like he hasn't smiled in years. They've won. Tony's safe and alive and his.

"You're grumpy today," Steve whispers. Warmth seeps through his voice and makes him sound a little hoarse, halfway between choking-with-emotion and have-been-laughing-for-hours. It happens more often these days, laughing does. He thinks he used to laugh more often before the war, that somehow, along the way, he lost the knack for it; that after the ice he had to relearn how only to lose every reason to smile again as he saw Tony wield the gauntlet, as he knelt next to him in the barren field that had once been their home and cupped his ashen face, seeing the light go out from his eyes.

Steve's nothing if not stubborn, though. The reminder is etched under the synthetic skin of his right arm, where metal and bone fuse to make up for every inch of his body the serum failed to repair. It's how he can tell that he isn't dreaming, after all.

"You left me alone in bed in the name of making something as pedestrian as breakfast. Of course I'm grumpy," Tony says. Retaliation comes swift and sweet, and Steve braces himself and focuses on the feel of Tony's fingers as they outline his hipbone over the fabric of his sweatpants and then move to hike up his t-shirt, as they skim across his side and press flat against his stomach until his breath gets caught. Tony huffs at that, and before he presses one open-mouthed kiss to Steve's nape, he says, "I'm lucky."

"Lucky how?" Steve asks, and his right hand moves as deftly as the real thing, picking up a strawberry between his thumb and his forefinger. He recognizes the texture, plump and soft and whole, as well as the high relief of each miniscule seed. But he won't get to feel the moisture of its flesh; even if he squeezes it and lets the juice run like a rivulet down his arm, the sensation will remain slightly foreign, a curiosity. There are always trade-offs and this one is insignificant. He can still touch Tony and hold a brush and throw his shield as easily as he used to. He isn't missing anything.

"Isn't it obvious? I get to wake up every morning to this" Tony says, a quiet sort of wonder in his voice, but it's Steve who gets to hold him at night, who is allowed to stand by his side while he brings marvels into being, who has the privilege of seeing him smile, just like now, brown eyes set alight as he ducks his head and eats from Steve's fingers.

"I'm the lucky one," Steve says before he presses his lips against the gray growing at Tony's temples and brushes the soft curve of his cheekbone, as he kisses the citrusy sweetness off his parted lips.

It's real.


End file.
